


Knot Another Teen Wolf RomCom

by luulapants



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Comedy, Derek Hale Deserves Nice Things, Fluff and Smut, Knotting, M/M, POV Stiles Stilinski, Pack Dynamics, Pack Family, Pack Mom Stiles Stilinski, Romantic Comedy, Smut, Top Derek Hale/Bottom Stiles Stilinski
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-07
Updated: 2019-12-07
Packaged: 2021-02-17 21:43:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21700222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/luulapants/pseuds/luulapants
Summary: Little clues were coming together here, adding up in a truly alarming and surreal way that Stiles wasn’t fully mentally prepared for. “So… so this is a dick-specific sort of issue?” he ventured.Jesus, and Stiles knew that look. Who the hell hadn’t felt that way at some point? Betrayed and confused and a little scared of one’s own body. Stiles had felt that way about his dick lots of times. Usually in class, right before the teacher called him to the board. He’d felt that way about his dick after the first time Derek pushed him into a wall and stood up close in his business. As soon as Derek had left, Stiles had stood staring down at his dick in dismay, thinking, 'This? We’re into this now?'“I mean, you… you already know what’s happening,” he surmised. “You just want me to do some research and see if I come up with the same thing so you know it’s not just you, yeah?”Finally, Derek looked at him, and it was with a half-cringing vulnerable expression Stiles had never seen nor even imagined he would see before in his life. “I guess?”
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 128
Kudos: 2884
Collections: Sterek love, Teen wolf RC20021997





	Knot Another Teen Wolf RomCom

“No,” Stiles said without looking up.

Derek stood with one leg inside, straddling Stiles’s bedroom window. “No what?”

“No to _whatever_ you’re about to rope me into.” He was still staring down at his math homework, pencil poised over a particularly hideous sketch of a parabola. “Kelpies, curses, monsters under the bed – whatever it is, I’m not interested.”

There was a moment of silence and then, inexplicably, Derek started to _leave_.

“Wait, you’re actually listening to me?” Stiles asked, finally looking up.

Derek was now standing on the bit of roof outside his window, his brow pinched in what could only be deep brooding. “You said you didn’t want to help,” he said flatly.

Right. Because he didn’t. Because Stiles had school and lacrosse and his dad and Scott and a whole life that didn’t involve being mauled, maimed, threatened, made to run for his life, or otherwise endangered. Because Derek and his band of assholes were perfectly capable of taking care of themselves. Because he and Scott were forming their very own two man human-werewolf pack with no alpha. Their motto was, ‘Fuck that and everything about it – I’m going home’. Stiles was thinking about having t-shirts made.

“Okay, but just for curiosity’s sake, if I _did_ want to, what would I have been in for?” Stiles asked.

Derek regarded him with an unreadable expression, which was expected because _all_ of the man’s expressions were goddamn unreadable. “Just some research,” he said. “Nothing dangerous. But it’s personal, so if you don’t want to help, that’s all I’m telling you.”

See, the problem with ‘Fuck that and everything about it – I’m going home’ was, well, what did Stiles do when he was already _at_ home? And the prospect of learning anything personal about Derek was practically enough to drive him crazy with nosiness.

In the past two years since Derek formed the Asshole Pack of Werewolves (and Lizard Boy) (and a Banshee) (and a Hellhound?), Stiles and Scott had been conned into helping with everything from figuring out Lydia’s magnetic attraction to corpses to fighting the Smurfette version of Kate Argent and her shitty bone-clad backup dancers. After last week’s run-in with a family of wendigos, who got a good few bites out of Scott before the Asshole Pack came to save him, the two of them had firmly and loudly sworn off of Supernatural Drama for the foreseeable future.

But in all that time, the closest thing to a personal Derek-related issue they’d approached was his uncle’s perennial undeadness.

Groaning in frustration at his own inability to leave well enough alone, Stiles beckoned frantically at Derek. “Fine, fine, come in. Shut the window behind you, would you? It’s cold out there.”

Derek came through the window, closed it. He tossed his leather jacket on the bed, then sat next to it and proceeded to say _nothing_. Stiles stared at him. Derek rested his elbows on his knees and stared at the floor between them. He said nothing.

“Dude,” Stiles said. He waited a moment. “ _What?_ ” he pressed.

With a heavy sigh, like Stiles had beat this out of him and Derek hadn’t come _climbing through his window_ asking Stiles for help, Derek said, “You’ve gotten a pretty good stash of research together on supernatural creatures, right? Beyond the bestiary?”

“Yes,” Stiles answered, a little sharp and preemptively annoyed that they were apparently taking the long and winding road to get to the point on this one. “I am research guy. That’s my deal. So what do you want me to research?”

“Werewolves,” Derek answered, and then after seeing the dubious expression on Stiles’s face added, “Well, alphas, in particular. Differences between alphas and betas.”

“Well, you’re a lot more annoying as an alpha,” Stiles volunteered.

“I’m serious, Stiles,” Derek gritted out. “Physiological differences. We’re stronger. We heal faster. Our eyes are red, and sometimes our shifts are a little different – I don’t know anything beyond that. And I need to.”

Stiles leaned back in his desk chair, swaying slowly from side to side. “What, like, are you double-jointed now? You’ve gotta give me more to go on here, buddy. Why do you need to know?”

Derek looked to the side, then the other. Anywhere but at Stiles. His big shoulders were hunched up in a way that was seriously putting the seams of his t-shirt to the test. “I’m noticing some things.”

“Oh my God, you should seriously work for the CIA because it is _impossible_ to get anything useful out of you,” Stiles griped, dragging a hand over his face. He pushed out of his chair, slapped his math book closed on his graph paper, then stalked over to his bookshelf where a Wolverine action figure stood poised to attack next to his bottle of Adderall. He picked Wolvie up and carried him over to Derek. “Here. Show me on the doll where the changes are happening,” he plied in a mock-sweet tone.

Derek glared up at him, then stood abruptly, forcing Stiles to take a step back. “This was a mistake,” he muttered, picking up his jacket.

Stiles sighed. “Seriously? No, come on, Derek. I can take this seriously. I can help you, but you do have to talk to me.” He reached out, wrapping a hand around Derek’s bicep, which tensed under his touch and, holy cow, how were those things even real?

Slowly, Derek turned back toward him. “Mating, Stiles,” he said, as if it pained him. “Sex. I need you to look into how it’s different for alphas.”

His eyebrows shot straight to his hairline and, for all Stiles knew, may have kept going straight on up to the ceiling. Bye, eyebrows! “Oh,” he said faintly. “Oh, that’s all.” He fish-mouthed for a moment, not sure what else to say. Finally, he settled on, “Didn’t your parents talk to you about that?”

Derek was actually flushing, and Stiles had literally never seen that before. He wanted to take a picture. Rubbing at the back of his neck and glowering at Wolverine, Derek said, “My mom was the alpha, then Laura. They were both women, and it was never really the plan for the line to pass all the way down to me, so… no.”

Little clues were coming together here, adding up in a truly alarming and surreal way that Stiles wasn’t fully mentally prepared for. “So… so this is a dick-specific sort of issue?” he ventured. Derek nodded at Wolverine.

Jesus, and Stiles _knew_ that look. Who the hell hadn’t felt that way at some point? Betrayed and confused and a little scared of one’s own body. Stiles had felt that way about his dick lots of times. Usually in class, right before the teacher called him to the board. He’d felt that way about his dick after the first time Derek pushed him into a wall and stood up close in his business. As soon as Derek had left, Stiles had stood staring down at his dick in dismay, thinking, _This? We’re into this now?_

“I mean, you… you already know what’s happening,” he surmised. “You just want me to do some research and see if I come up with the same thing so you know it’s not just you, yeah?”

Finally, Derek looked at him, and it was with a half-cringing vulnerable expression Stiles had never seen nor even imagined he would see before in his life. “I guess?”

“Okay,” Stiles agreed, nodding. “Okay, I can do that, dude. Give me a couple of days to do some digging, and I’ll text you when I’ve got something.”

“Thank you,” Derek murmured, and it sounded more earnest than Stiles could deal with.

* * *

The research hole that Stiles lost himself in was deep and full of porn. Bizarre porn. Druids liked to get their freak on, and when they were in charge of documenting the sexual exploits of a species, they did not skimp on the illustrations.

Stiles did end up texting Derek that first night: _R_ _ecent problem or since you became alpha?_

 _Just in the past six months_.

Stiles tapped a finger against his lower lip as he thought. _New dance partner or…?_

_No._

Right, so a solitary man-and-his-dick type situation. Stiles was quite familiar.

Which wasn’t to say he’d never had a non-solitary situation! Oh, nay nay. After the second potential virgin-sacrifice-related situation had arisen in Beacon Hills, Stiles had marched right over to The Jungle and seduced his way into the back of some dude’s Honda. Was it special? No. Good? Also no. Was he alive to joke about it? You bet your ass he was.

Stiles figured virginity was a social construct. Having your still-beating heart ripped from your chest? That was real.

There had been other less-awful dalliances since Honda Dude, too, if only to prove to himself that sex wasn’t the biggest coming-of-age letdown since ‘being allowed to stay up all night.’ And though he knew sex could be a disaster horrifying enough that one considered changing his name and moving to Mexico, he figured that supernatural sex disasters were probably a next-level thing that one tried to keep away from the normies.

Hence Derek Hale, a Levi’s ad come to life, a man whose beautiful muscles had smaller and somehow more attractive muscles, apparently hadn’t gotten his freak on in half a year. It was an injustice that needed desperately to be remedied.

 _Is it all the time or some of the time?_ he asked.

_Some of the time. But more recently._

* * *

The second day, after school, he texted, _Any new love interests in your life recently?_

_No._

Because alphas were, apparently, biologically wired to recognize ideal partners. Not in a matchmaker sort of way but rather in recognizing those who had qualities that made them suitable for helping to lead a wolf pack. Their bodies could start changing in response to someone like that.

_Any new women in your life at all?_

_A new tenant moved into the first floor apartment_.

Promising! Maybe this was Derek’s future lady love! _And?_

_And she’s an 85yo retired nun._

So maybe not.

That night, a Friday night, Scott texted asking if Stiles wanted to go out, and he’d fessed up – _Can’t, doing some research for Derek_

 _Traitor!_ Scott texted back immediately.

_It’s just some light research! I’m consulting!_

_I ALMOST GOT EATEN_

Ugh, Scott was going to lord that one over his head until the end of time. It wasn’t like Stiles hadn’t been right there running point on the whole operation!

* * *

Scott had been the friendly cute-faced bait, mostly because Isaac had stopped being adorable and started being a sarcastic little shit sometime during junior year. It was a side-effect of being in the Asshole Pack. In any case, Scott had gotten chummy with the son of the wendigo family, and it wasn’t long before he got an invitation to their lair.

“They invited you over _for dinner_?” Stiles complained. “Come on, how cliché can they be!”

The wendigo house looked like a typical suburban McMansion. Stiles and Lydia had scrounged up the original building plans from city hall so they would know their routes when they went in to meet Scott. Boyd and Parrish had gotten into a passive-aggressive sort of pissing match over who was the real heavy-hitter of the group that should lead the second charge, assuming Derek would lead the first.

“Look, I’m just saying, you’re nineteen, and I’m a police officer. I’d feel better if -”

“And I’m just saying that you’re hardly stronger than a human unless you flame on, so unless we’re planning to burn the whole house down -”

“Children!” Stiles barked at them, rubbing his hands over his face in exasperation. “Get out a tape measure or put ‘em away. There’s a third entrance on the east end of the house. Boyd, Erica, and Isaac are going to barge in the front door because you’re all loud as fuck and you might as well. Jordan, you and Jackson have a little more finesse, so you’ll take the back, try to incapacitate some folks before they realize you’re there. _Derek_ is going in the east wing so he can ambush once they’re focused on the noise brigade.”

He looked around, waiting for any objections, but he’d gotten pretty damn good at putting these plans together over the past year. The only comment he got was from Lydia, who was painting her nails while she spoke. “And I suppose I’m on idiot wrangling duty with you?”

Stiles grinned. “Damn right you are. Now, would someone order us some pizzas? Erica, you’re pickiest, you have to order.”

Derek had been quiet, leaning against the windows and watching Stiles with Unreadable Expression No. 13. “I’ll order,” he said, then walked his big, broody shoulders right out of the room.

No one expected to find that the Wendigos had fortified their McMansion, set up booby traps in the yard. Jordan and Jackson had been taken down almost immediately by a trip-wire gun, and Derek reported in that he’d been caught in a trap. The three on the front door all got in, but they were completely outmatched by the wendigos inside. Jackson managed to get back on his feet without additional assistance and got into the fight a few critical moments late, but Parrish was bleeding from the gut, and Lydia had to go into the yard to retrieve him.

Stiles found Derek with a barbed spike through his calf. There was a chain attached to the back end of the spike, which Stiles snapped with a pair of bolt cutters. “Alright, big guy, this is gonna hurt like a bitch, but just for a second, okay?” He yanked the spike the rest of the way through. How Derek managed to muffle that roar of pain was beyond him.

“Jesus that is ugly,” Stiles muttered. “But you gotta go, man. They need you in there. Jordan is out and Jackson was late.” He took his flannel off and tied it tightly around the wound.

Derek stared at him while he worked. Unreadable Expression No. 9.

“Go get ‘em, alpha,” Stiles said, and Derek did.

The wendigos totally ate Scott a little bit before he got there, though.

* * *

Stiles compiled his findings into a PowerPoint presentation. Derek took one look at the first slide, which showed a stock photo of a man scratching his head and read:

“ _What’s Wrong with my Dick?!”  
sexual characteristics of alpha werewolves_

_by Stiles Stilinski_

“Absolutely not,” Derek said, folding his arms over his chest. “Just tell me what you found.”

“But I made slide transitions!” Stiles protested.

“Stiles,” Derek growled, and that was the I-might-kill-you growl, so Stiles sighed and shut his laptop.

Dropping into his desk chair, Stiles waved for Derek to sit on the bed like he had the other night. Derek had deigned to show up during the day, but Stiles suspected that was because Stiles sent his _Alright, come over tomorrow_ text at two in the morning, and Derek wanted to punish him by showing up before noon. It was his own fault he got to deal with Stiles in all of his pajama-clad glory.

“So it turns out there are actually a few differences between betas and alphas when it comes to sex,” Stiles told him. “Some reports say that alphas come more than mere mortals – like, volume of jizz-wise? But those sources looked a little… iffy.” Those sources had also been _extremely_ graphic, so Stiles suspected that was more of a fantasy thing than anything. “More generally, your increased strength and stamina and healing mean you’re going to be able to go at it longer and go again faster.”

Derek was frowning, obviously not hearing his own little problem in this list, so Stiles pushed on.

“Mostly the differences have to do with the way you pick a mate to help you run the pack. You have, y’know, instincts about who would be good for the job, and your body reacts to them.”

“What kind of reactions?” Derek asked cautiously.

“I mean, your standard-issue increased horniness for starters. You become more aware of their smell. And, if your alpha instincts really think they’ve found a winner, the alpha’s dick does this weird thing that real wolf and dog dicks do during sex? It’s called a knot. It’s a kind of -”

“Swelling,” Derek filled in.

Ding, ding, ding, they had a winner.

“Is that...” Stiles caught himself looking down at Derek’s crotch and forced himself to look up at his face again. _Eyes up here, Stilinski,_ he chided himself. “Is that what’s going on? You’ve got a knot?”

Derek hesitated, then nodded slowly.

Stiles exploded into energetic rambling, eyes wide. “Dude, that’s so cool. Like, freaky, and I’d probably die if my dick did something like that without my permission, so props on you for having _any_ level of composure, but _so cool_.” He’d read a lot about knots, about the function they served and how they were supposed to be extremely pleasurable for both parties and strengthen the emotional bond between the alpha and his mate.

“You think it’s _cool_?” Derek asked, sounding a little choked at the prospect.

Stiles settled. “Okay, maybe not? Like, I can see how it’d be super inconvenient for sex and stuff, but… I mean, it’s only supposed to happen when you’re with someone that would be a good mate, so hopefully they wouldn’t mind. Though, I guess in your case… I mean, you said it’s just happening when you’re...” He made a vague jerk-off motion, and Derek scowled at him.

“I’m not seeing anyone. So why is this happening?” Derek asked through gritted teeth.

“Does it not feel good?” Stiles asked, a little concerned at how distressed Derek seemed about it all. “I mean, does it hurt or something?”

“It doesn’t – that’s not the point,” Derek insisted. “Why would this happen when I’m single?”

Stiles leaned back, rubbing a hand through his hair. “I mean, I guess the sources didn’t say it happens when you’re _with_ someone that’s a good potential mate. Just that when your instincts recognize that someone _is_ a good potential mate, the changes start to happen. So I guess… I mean, I think it’d still have to be someone you’re interested in, right? Otherwise, they wouldn’t be good potential.”

Derek’s brows were pinched. He stood up and started pacing slowly across the room. Great. They were at the pacing stage of distress. Next came the throwing things stage, and Stiles so didn’t want to let it get to there. “What qualities does it say the instinct looks for?” Derek asked.

“I mean, it’s not super specific,” Stiles answered, opening his laptop again. He found the page that had discussed alpha-mate compatibility in the most detail. “Like, generally, good mate qualities would be… caring and providing for the pack, leadership capabilities, supporting the alpha, complementing the qualities of the alpha.” He scanned the page, then read aloud: “Perhaps paradoxically, an alpha seeks someone that places the pack above all else – even above the alpha himself.”

He looked up from the laptop, and Derek was staring at him. Unreadable Expression No. 5.

“What?” Stiles asked.

Derek tore his gaze away, and headed for the window. “Thanks for the research.”

Setting his laptop aside, Stiles bounced up to his feet. “Woah, woah, woah! Hey, you can’t just leave after that,” he protested, snagging Derek by the elbow. “Who the hell is this magical goddess that the pack is so desperately in need of, huh? I don’t know of anyone close enough to the pack for you to be getting that sort of read on her.”

Turning back toward him, Derek fixed Stiles with a desperate sort of expression. Not so unreadable. There was frustration, a little anger, a little misery. One of his hands closed around Stiles’s bicep, and realization dawned like the ringing of a bell.

Just as soon, Stiles was telling himself that those were _crazy person_ thoughts and Derek did _not_ feel that way about him. He wasn’t even in Derek’s pack! “Why do you keep looking at me like that?” Stiles pleaded softly.

“Were you serious when you said you’d never be in my pack?” Derek asked.

“I never said -”

“You say stuff like that _all the time_ ,” Derek insisted. “You and Scott. You say you won’t be in the pack, you say you don’t want an alpha, you call us assholes, and then you show up when we need you and you take care of us like we’re your own. You patch up my betas when they get hurt. You bring them food and make them do their homework. You know Jordan’s work schedule better than I do.”

Stiles’s head was spinning, but he latched onto that and protested, “My dad keeps the shift schedule on our fridge.”

“You know Boyd’s class schedule.”

“Well, he took way too many hours for his first semester, especially with the chem survey -”

“Stiles,” Derek said softly, squeezing his arms where he was holding him.

Stiles looked down, still having trouble wrapping his brain around the idea that Derek felt this way about _him_. “You’re assholes, but I care about you assholes,” he said softly.

“Would you ever be part of my pack?” Derek asked again.

“Are you sure this isn’t some elaborate scheme to get Scott in the pack?” he half-joked.

Derek didn’t look amused, just leveled him with a serious expression. “Scott can join or he can be a one-man pack. I don’t care. I want _you_ , Stiles.”

“Because your alpha instincts say I’d be a good pack mom?” Stiles surmised.

Derek shook his head. “Because I say you’d be a good partner. You’re smart and funny and caring and brave and – fuck, Stiles – do you have any idea how gorgeous you are?”

That caught Stiles by surprise. He looked up, raising an eyebrow at Derek.

“And you would be a good pack mom,” Derek agreed. “Last week, when I was hurt, you didn’t try to coddle me and take me out of the field. You patched me up and sent me back to take care of my pack. You put them ahead of me. And I went home that night and… well, let’s just say my alpha instincts are _very_ sure that you’d be a good fit.”

The second eyebrow lifted to join the first. “Oh?” His eyes darted down to Derek’s crotch. “Oh yeah?”

Derek smirked, then stifled it just as quickly. “Yeah. So I need to know – were you serious?”

Instead of answering, Stiles lunged up to kiss Derek before he could second-guess himself. His arms twined around Derek’s neck as strong arms wrapped around his waist in return, holding him on his tip-toes, pressed together from chests to knees.

In the romance movies Lydia always made him watch, people’s knees always went weak during first kisses or someone’s leg would pop out behind them like it was attached to a spring. This kiss was definitely on caliber with those movie kisses in terms of intensity, but instead of going weak, Stiles’s legs had manic energy and a mind of their own, one leg hooking up over Derek’s hip, then the other, climbing him like a goddamn tree.

It maybe wasn’t that romantic.

Still, Derek caught his weight easily, hefting Stiles up without breaking the kiss, a hand under his ass and squeezing. Then Stiles’s back was pressed into the wall next to the window, and Derek’s mouth had moved down to his neck, kissing and sucking a trail from his jaw down to his collarbone.

“Oh holy crap, Derek,” Stiles gasped, hips jerking upward of their own accord to grind his half-hard dick into Derek’s glorious, glorious abs. He was in nothing but a pair of pajama pants, so there was no keeping that a secret even if he wanted to.

And he didn’t want to. No, Stiles wanted to get _laid_. Stiles wanted to get _knotted._

Derek went tense suddenly, head lifting toward the window, eyes wide.

“Wait, what?” Stiles complained, because he’d been really into whatever hieroglyphics Derek had been trying to hickey onto his neck.

“Your dad’s squad car is a block away,” he said, slowly taking his hand off of Stiles’s ass. Stiles whined, but put his feet back on the ground. “I should go,” Derek said, sounding disappointed. “And, I mean, I feel like I just sprang a lot on you, so maybe you need some time to think things through, decide what your expectations are...” He wasn’t looking at Stiles again, instead looking out the window with Unreadable Expression No. 3 which maybe wasn’t so unreadable after all. It was guarded, but only because Derek was preparing himself for disappointment.

Stiles placed a hand on Derek’s jaw, turning his face so they were eye to eye. “Hey, dumbass? What I actually need is for you to go home and chase all of your betas out of the loft for the afternoon. Send them to the movies or some shit. Because I’m going to show up in an hour, and I want to get fucked without our pack of assholes getting in the way, capiche?”

Derek studied his face for a moment, a smile slowly spreading across his lips until it was a whole-face sort of deal. He leaned back in, kissed Stiles’s breath away, then stepped back. “I’ll see you in an hour.”

* * *

Most of the apartment building was occupied by pack at this point. Derek’s loft on the fifth floor was the largest, and Isaac lived in the second bedroom. Floors three and four were completely pack-occupied, with one vacant unit set aside for Lydia to move into after graduation. Jordan was on the second floor, preferring a little breathing room away from the teenage nightmare that was his pack, but the rest of that floor and all of the first floor were civilians.

When Stiles walked into the lobby, Isaac was coming out of the elevator. He stopped, looked Stiles up and down, then said in a tone that sounded almost proud, “Stilinski, you slut.”

Stiles snorted, feeling a flush rise to his cheeks, but he forced himself to keep his chin up and shot back, “Don’t be jealous, Lahey.”

Isaac socked him in the shoulder – and, okay, _ow_ – then headed out of the building with his hands shoved in his pockets.

When the elevator doors opened to the loft, Stiles found Derek standing by the window with a metal water bottle in his hand, slightly crushed. “So what exactly did you tell Isaac?” he asked.

“I told him to leave so I can have sex,” Derek said flatly.

“Subtle. I like it.” The door started to close, so Stiles had to hustle out of the elevator, realizing he’d just been standing in it like he might change his mind and leave. That was _so_ not happening. In a second, Derek was right in front of him, cupping his cheek and pulling him in for another of those brain-melting kisses. Stiles moaned into it, sliding his hands up the hem of Derek’s shirt.

“Upstairs,” Derek murmured, ducking down to pick up where he’d left off on the hickey-making.

They made their way slowly, clumsily across the room, shirts lost somewhere in the vicinity of the couch. By the time they got to the stairs, Stiles had Derek’s pants undone, and with the way Derek was two steps up as he stepped out of them, it was so easy to just lean forward and drag his mouth over the bulge of Derek’s cock through his underwear. The railing groaned under Derek’s grip.

“Stiles,” he groaned, and Stiles took that as his cue to tug Derek’s underwear down as well.

Logically, he knew that the knot didn’t form until the end of sex, right before orgasm. He had read very, very extensively about this. But Stiles was almost surprised by how _normal_ Derek’s dick looked. It was uncut, most of the way to hard. It wasn’t small, but it wasn’t terrifyingly huge either. It wouldn’t take ages to get himself stretched out for it, and the knot, assuming it didn’t swell up like a softball or something ridiculous like that, probably wasn’t going to hurt him or anything. Stiles smiled at it, leaned in and kissed the head and said, “There, you’re not so scary, are you?”

Derek was staring at him in mild bewilderment. “Um. Stiles, do you two need a moment?”

Stiles looked up at him, a hand wrapped around the shaft of Derek’s cock defensively, like he was worried Derek might take it away from him. “Hey, I’ve spent two days picturing what sort of weird mutant shit could be going on with your dick. Forgive me if I take a moment to appreciate its normal, fundamental dickness.”

“You’re insane.”

“You’re the one that thinks I’m mate material,” Stiles shot back, all judgment before he closed his lips around the head of Derek’s cock and sucked.

“Fuck!”

They didn’t get very far on the staircase, which was probably for the best. The second Derek’s cock hit the back of Stiles’s throat, Derek had curled forward, sliding his fingers through Stiles’s hair, and almost fell forward off the step he was standing on.

“Bed,” Stiles said as he hauled Derek up to said bed. “Bed is way, way safer.”

Then Derek picked him up and tossed him at it to demonstrate just how safe it was. Stiles laughed and started kicking out of his pants. Derek snagged the bottom of his jeans in one hand and yanked them the rest of the way off, then leaned forward to rid him of his underwear, too. Lying on top of Stiles, groin to groin, mouthing obsessively at his collarbone, Derek murmured, “You smell so good to me.”

“It’s because your instincts – ah!” Derek had wrapped a hand around Stiles’s dick, stroking it in slow, lazy tugs.

“No,” Derek said, coming back up to kiss him again. “You always smelled good to me. The alpha instincts only started noticing recently. Since this summer when you took care of Jackson.”

It had been a few months since Lydia broke it off with Jackson for good. He’d finally realized that he was gay, that he was head over heels for Ethan, and he had a big, ugly meltdown over the whole thing. Jackson had always been an asshole, but he’d stepped it up to the next level in the preceding months, so people weren’t exactly busting down his door to comfort him. But Stiles knew a crisis when he saw one, and he’d been there before. Maybe Jackson didn’t deserve sympathy, but he sure as hell needed it to get through the whole mess.

“You don’t even _like_ Jackson, but you were there for him anyway. I think that’s when I knew.”

It was sweet, but - “Can you stop talking about Jackson while you jerk me off?”

Derek snorted, and he let go of Stiles’s dick, pushing up and rolling off of him.

“Wait, no! That’s not what I meant,” Stiles protested.

“I’m getting lube,” Derek informed him, stretching out toward the nightstand and fishing in the top drawer. He was on his stomach, a long line of naked muscles. For once, Stiles didn’t resist the urge to touch. He slid his hands over Derek’s thighs, over his ass, up to his back.

“Oh my god, you are stupidly hot,” he whined against Derek’s shoulder blade.

Derek ended up settled against the headboard, tugging Stiles to sit between his legs with his back against Derek’s chest. It was a good position for Derek to continue gnawing on his neck, and, “Seriously, am I going to be in turtlenecks for the rest of my life? Or douchebag hipster scarves?”

“It’s winter. It’ll be fine,” Derek mumbled into his skin.

It was also a good position for Stiles to spread his legs, ankles hooked onto the outsides of Derek’s knees, while Derek slowly worked a lubed finger into him. A second quickly joined the first.

“You do this to yourself a lot, don’t you?” Derek asked, and Stiles could feel him smirking against his shoulder.

“Maybe. Why?”

“You’re very relaxed. I’d ask if you were out fucking around a lot, but you pretty much announce it to the whole pack every time you have sex, so I know you’re not.”

“Excuse you! I do not – ohhh fuck, right there, right there,” Stiles groaned, slouching down a little to press into the curl of Derek’s fingers as they found his prostate.

“You were saying?” Derek asked, rubbing his fingers in insistent little circles against Stiles’s prostate. He was hard against the small of Stiles’s back, and Stiles was dying to get that inside of him.

“I was saying?” Stiles asked, brains completely offline.

“Thought so.” Derek pulled his fingers out, slicked up a third finger, then pressed all three in, more slowly. He took his time, taking Stiles apart bit by bit on his fingers. His other hand, which had been stroking Stiles’s chest, then low on his stomach, then the inside of his thigh, came up and wrapped around his dick, thumb swiping over the head.

Stiles jerked in his grasp. “Oh fuck. Okay, I’m gonna come if you keep that up.”

“So come,” Derek said, jerking him off at an easy pace. “I want you to come again on my knot.”

Stiles was almost sorry that he came the second Derek said that, because he didn’t get a chance to properly lock the sound and shape and timber of those words in his memory for spank bank purposes. Instead, he was too busy moaning and arching against Derek, head dropped back on his shoulder, panting as he came over Derek’s hand.

Once he came down, Derek shifted Stiles forward onto the bed and tugged his hips up. “Is this okay?” he breathed, hands ghosting over Stiles’s ass in a way that could only be described as reverent. “It’ll be easier afterward, like this. When we’re stuck together.”

“Yeah, s’good.” Stiles stretched his arms out over his head, gripping the sheets, and spread his knees to brace himself. He was sure he must make a pretty shameless picture like that, but he didn’t have a single fuck left to give about anything other than finally, _finally_ getting Derek’s dick in him.

Instead, he felt Derek’s fingers again, just a slow dip inside. “You should see yourself like this. Fuck, Stiles,” Derek rumbled.

“You’re about to see me impatient if you don’t fuck me soon,” Stiles shot back over his shoulder.

Derek narrowed his eyes at him, taking the challenge, and gripped his hips in both hands, moving forward. The first press was tight, but not painful. Derek only pushed in a couple of inches before rocking out, then back into him. He was, goddamn, probably the most considerate lay Stiles had ever had, and wasn’t that just the cutest shit? Honda Guy wasn’t even in the same universe as Derek Hale. Not that Stiles had expected less.

By the time Derek’s hips were flush with his, his body curled over Stiles’s and lips pressed to the knob of spine at the back of his neck, Stiles was panting and whining, dick already starting to show a little interest in things again. “God, you feel so good,” Stiles sighed. “And we haven’t even gotten to the whole ‘alpha stamina’ part of things.”

Derek huffed a laugh against the back of his neck and rocked his hips shallowly, causing them both to groan. “I just watched you come on my fingers,” Derek breathed. “And I’ve got you in a position my alpha instincts are _really_ -” He thrust, and Stiles whined, fingers clenching in the sheets. “- in favor of. I don’t think I’m going to be breaking any records here on stamina.”

“Fuck, that’s fine. I’ll be right there with you in a few minutes. Just fuck me, please,” Stiles pleaded.

And Derek did. Derek fucked like a goddamn metronome, steady and hard, each movement angled so that little zings of pleasure were racing up Stiles’s spine, and little ‘ah, ah, ah!’s of pleasure punched out of his mouth with each thrust. Stiles had never really gotten the whole joke about people looking stupid during sex, because he had found that people’s expressions were not that different from their normal expressions except a little sweatier. But now he got it, because he was pretty sure he was red-faced and cross-eyed and _stupid_ looking. And he didn’t _care._

“Stiles,” Derek groaned, hands tightening on his hips. “I’m going to knot you. Okay?”

Stiles bobbled his head as dramatically as he could. “Yes, yes, yes. Please, Derek. I want it. Want your knot in me, please.” He felt the knot start to swell, just a subtle pressure at first, a slight tugging at the rim of his hole on the outstroke.

The sound that escaped Derek’s mouth when he came was something very close to a roar, and Stiles hoped that Derek had thought to chase _all_ of the betas out of their apartments, not just the one living in this particular apartment. Because soundproofing or no, that shit was _loud_.

And then the knot swelled the rest of the way all at once, filling him up and pressing persistently against his prostate as Derek came inside of him. Oh, god. Stiles had never gone bareback before – safety first, thank you very much – but he didn’t think it was normal for it to feel like that _much_. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,” he chanted, grinding back onto Derek’s knot, chasing the feeling. He barely needed to touch his dick before he was coming, mind going deliciously blank.

When he came down from orgasm, Derek was still shivering on top of him and, from the feel of it, still coming. Once he was able to make words again, Stiles said, “I thought you said you weren’t having the ‘more come than normal’ problem?”

“Never said that,” Derek gritted out. His hands were braced on the bed on either side of Stiles’s head, but his arms were shaking. “Just wasn’t the problem I was worried about.”

“Roll over, big guy,” Stiles said, nudging Derek gently so they tipped over onto their sides. Derek immediately wrapped his arms tight around Stiles’s middle, mouth latching onto the back of his neck. “Are you still…?”

Derek shook his head, which Stiles only knew because he didn’t let go of Stiles’s neck to do it.

“What’s it like?” From Stiles's end of things, it was pretty fantastic. He felt more full than he’d ever been, Derek’s knot huge and warm inside of him along with the slightly unsettling feeling of an Awful Lot of Come.

“Intense,” Derek breathed, finally releasing his bite. “It wasn’t like this when I was jerking off. It was always… like, I tried to keep my hand around it, but it wasn’t enough. Didn’t feel right. God, you feel so good, Stiles.” He nuzzled against the bite mark he’d left. “Are you okay?”

“Buddy, I am more than okay,” Stiles assured him, grinning. He reached down to where one of Derek’s hands was splayed out against his belly and laced their fingers together. “Your sheets, though? The second this thing goes down, your sheets are in for a bad time.”

Derek laughed and pressed his smile into Stiles’s shoulder. “I can handle that.”

* * *

The knot took about twenty minutes to go down, and by the time they’d cleaned up and Stiles’s jelly legs had been able to get him back downstairs, he had a new text from Scott.

_TRAITOR!_

Stiles groaned and rubbed a hand over his face, because of course Isaac had run straight to Scott. He tapped out a return text.

_Sorry buddy. I think we’re joining the Asshole Pack._

Scott’s response came through in short, rapid-fire text bubbles.

_You’re actually CHOOSING to be in a pack  
With Boyd and Erica  
And Jackson  
And PETER  
Seriously???_

Stiles grinned. _Guess so_

_What, does Derek have a magic dick or something?_

Stiles looked over his shoulder to see Derek in the kitchen, spooning some leftover Indian food from takeout containers onto plates. Stiles knew without asking that he was keeping the pakora separate from the curry because Stiles didn’t like when it got soggy. And if there was a samosa left, they would both pretend to fight over it, but both of them secretly wanted the other to have it and in the end they’d split it in half.

Later, Isaac would come home and complain that they didn’t save any for him, and Stiles would make him breakfast for dinner and claim it was because he couldn’t stand to listen to him whine, but really it was because breakfast for dinner was one of the few good memories Isaac had from his childhood.

And Derek would stand off to the side, watching him with Unreadable Expression No. 13, which maybe wasn’t so unreadable after all, because it was the way he looked at Stiles when Stiles took care of his pack. It was a look that someday he’d call love, but for now he’d call appreciation and affection.

Stiles looked down at his phone and typed back,

_Nope. He just makes a very convincing argument._

**Author's Note:**

> I needed to write something fluffy and funny after my Very Dramatic last fic - I hope you enjoyed!
> 
> Please feel free to comment or hit me up on Tumblr. I love to hear from you!


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